


Going, Breaking, Stopped

by Syenya



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:31:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syenya/pseuds/Syenya
Summary: One day you're going along. Then the cracks start appearing. Eventually there are too many shards to hold together in one piece





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't ship KaiSoo then you're ~~wrong~~ probably much more stable than the rest of us.

 

Kyungsoo enters the apartment at 2:17 on Sunday afternoon. The sounds from the living area tell him that Jongin is playing his silly computer games, again. He takes off his shoes quietly and shrugs off his light early-Spring jumper.

There's a half-full bottle of wine on the counter, and on a bench full of dirty dishes, no sign of a glass.

The flowers that Kyungsoo had put on the bench yesterday are in the sink, stems leaning out over the edge and dripping down the cupboard fronts.

The floor is a mess of broken glass. Kyungsoo recognizes a mark from the cut vase the flowers had been in, and the remains of a wine glass stem. There's a bit of wine on the floor. The burgundy streams into a vibrant, bright red. Too bright for wine. Probably not wine.

The sounds of Jongin's game blare on behind him.

Kyungsoo fetches a broom and dustpan from the closet in the living. He silently sweeps the kitchen and brushes up the shards. He wipes his eyes to clear them and make sure that he didn't miss any tiny pieces. He tips them all carefully into the bin and reaches for the flowers. Bare stems come away in his hands, the heads all torn off and lying alone in the sink. He wipes his eyes again before he throws them all in the bin, as well.

Jongin's eyes are glassy as he concentrates on his game. His feet are crossed at the ankles and resting on the coffee table.

There are a hundred cuts in the soles.

 

 

Jongin wants to apologize. He wants Kyungsoo to stop crying.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin heads out onto the balcony on a mid-Spring evening with his pack of cigarettes and the lighter Joonmyun gave him years ago, when he graduated and moved away. Kris is on the next balcony over, already smoking. Jongin raises an eyebrow.

"Chanyeol's not back," Kris says, to explain the cancer stick between his lips. Jongin nods and shrugs as though he didn't care in the first place as he cups his hand around his tiny flame and lights himself up. He huffs the smoke out into the warm, but cooling, air and wonders if his face is as blank as it feels. As Kris' looks.

"How's the job?"

"Sickening." Jongin doesn't look across.

"Still bouncing?"

"Of course. I'll give this one a couple more weeks. The pay's alright."

Kris shuts up and pays attention to his cigarette.

He's not the sort to pry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Kyungsoo sighs as Jongin pauses to grab his pack before they leave the apartment. He knows there's nothing he can do about the younger man's habit, but it doesn't mean he has to like it. Jongin pouts at his judging stare. Kyungsoo rolls his eyes because he knows that he will never be able to resist that look.

There's a cold bite to the breeze that counteracts the thick warmth of the air as they walk. Jongin feels the skin of their connected palms like a burn. It feels like it's glowing for the world to see. Like a beacon. Kyungsoo doesn't seem to care. Or notice. He's smiling slightly and Jongin remembers what it's like to smile as he watches him. His own lips curve and Kyungsoo glances over to look at him.

Kyungsoo's grin is like the sun and he grabs Jongin's face, stopping dead right in the middle of the sidewalk. He pokes and prods at Jongin's lips, pinching and tapping, until Jongin's hand flies up and grabs his wrist. The lips part as he mutters a decisive "Cut it out!"

Kyungsoo just laughs. And laughs. And Jongin is laughing too, even though practically nothing is funny anymore, just because Kyungsoo can see something good which means that maybe, just maybe, there is something good left in the world to see. So the burn fades a little as he slips his hand back into Kyungsoo's and pulls him along to stop blocking the pavement for the other walkers.

Kyungsoo stops laughing quickly, but his smile is still there, and there's a bit more bounce in his step.

Jongin is still smiling as well; but as soon as he notices that he is, the expression freezes on his face and suddenly doesn't feel so natural anymore.

It happens all the time: Something that seems so easy one moment can become so hard the next.

 

 

Kyungsoo wants to apologize. He wants Jongin to stop screaming on the inside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Jongin-ah! Hello!"

Jongin turns to see his neighbour also returning home, all but hidden under armfuls of shopping bags. Chanyeol is beaming. Chanyeol is always grinning. Jongin smiles back faintly. "Hello, hyung."

"How was work?" Chanyeol asks obliviously, and Jongin hitches the smile up a notch.

"Fine," he lies.

"Great! Whoa," Chanyeol swerves his body to the side as he almost drops one of his bags. Jongin sighs.

"Would you like a hand?"

"Yeah, thanks!" Chanyeol sidles up to Jongin and nudges one of the bags upward. Jongin takes it, and one of the others. They get into the lift and Chanyeol begins to tell Jongin all about his day as though his neighbour is listening.

"Would you like to come in and have dinner with us?" Chanyeol asks, the question flowing seamlessly from his tirade of hyperactive news.

Jongin takes a moment to register the question. "Ah… no, no thanks," he says quickly as soon as he knows what he's refusing. "I'm alright tonight."

"Are you sure?" How does he manage to keep that smile so wide?

"I'm sure."

"Okay then!" Chanyeol puts his bags down and takes the ones that Jongin's holding before waving frantically — too frantically, considering the less than a metre of space between them — and ducks inside his apartment. Jongin feels his own smile slip.

He wonders, as he unlocks his own empty apartment and steps inside, how long it took Chanyeol to perfect that mask, because there is no way that anyone could really be that happy all the time. He wishes that his could be as convincing as that. He's tired of the questions.

_Are you alright? What's wrong, Jongin?_

Go away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"My mother moved to Busan," Kyungsoo says, completely out of the blue, as they lie in bed with their legs and sheets tangled together. Jongin blinks and pulls back slightly so he can see Kyungsoo's face.

"My brother told me," he adds when Jongin says nothing.

Jongin isn't sure how he is supposed to respond to that, so he just pulls Kyungsoo a bit closer and nuzzles into his hair. It seems to be enough.

"My father's still here."

"Kyungsoo…"

Joning had hoped Kyungsoo would keep talking, because he doesn't know what to follow with. But Kyungsoo says nothing and Jongin wonders if it's normal to panic over having no words on the tip of your tongue.

Kyungsoo sighs a little and squeezes closer. "I love you," he murmurs in a quiet voice.

This time Jongin knows what he's supposed to say, but strangely, it sticks in his throat. What comes out instead is, "Is it love when it's just two people holding the pieces of each other in place?"

"Yes," Kyungsoo says, quicker than Jongin was expecting, and he realizes that the question had crossed Kyungsoo's mind long ago. "Yes it is, because I love you, Jongin."

Jongin's fingers trail from the nape of Kyungsoo's neck across his shoulder blade and down his side to his protruding hipbone. Kyungsoo's breath ghosts across his clavicle and he murmurs his response into Kyungsoo's scalp.

"I love you too."

 

 

Jongin thinks that he's in a bit too many pieces for Kyungsoo to deal with. But he hopes that he can fix Kyungsoo, at least.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin frowns when he pulls the third-last cigarette from the packet and his gaze falls on Kyungsoo's potted plant on the corner of the balcony. There's a mess of butts in the soil and the plant looks kind of dying, and Jongin swears that he was holding a full packet when he came out here.

It's his third pack of the day.

It's strangely dark and quiet in the apartment next door, and Jongin vaguely recalls Chanyeol saying something about Kris and going away and parents.

The thought of parents makes him stop short. He takes his cigarette out of his mouth to cough up a lung. And his other lung. And his guts.

That's what it feels like, anyway.

He turns around, resting his elbows and spine on the banister. He can see his reflection in the glass sliding door of his apartment.

He tries out a smile, just to see if he can. The man in the glass grimaces back at him. Those full lips used to be able to smile, smirk, laugh, spit out sarcastic comments… what happened, again? He concentrates. The lips in his reflection slowly curve up into something that looks half-decent. He's out of practice. He thinks of Chanyeol. That's the standard he has to reach. The smile in the reflection takes a break as he sucks in another lungful of grey poison. He tries again.

The smile still isn't right, though, so Jongin puts the cigarette back in his mouth and searches for something to help. He frowns as he tries to think of a memory, sifting through months, years, until he finds something that he could possibly work with. He and Kyungsoo always celebrate their birthday on the 13th, a day before his and a day after Kyungsoo's. Two years ago Kyungsoo had woken up early to make them a special breakfast. He can remember stumbling out of bed to wonderful smells and getting pounced on by a Kyungsoo who was entirely too awake for 9:00 on a Saturday morning and the whisper in his ear, "Happy birthday to you and me, Jongin-ah…" He can still see Kyungsoo's broad grin, his large eyes crinkling into half-moons; he can recall the smell of breakfast and slept-in clothes and Kyungsoo's hair.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection and he's instantly stunned by how… real his smile looks. How much younger his face seems. But it's gone in a flash as soon as he sees it. He sighs as he takes one last drag from his cigarette, stubs it out in Kyungsoo's plant and stalks back inside for the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Jongin!" Kyungsoo screams.

Jongin counts slowly to five, because if Kyungsoo is going to come bursting in to tell him off there's not really much point in standing up. Kyungsoo appears in the doorway at six, just as Jongin's planting his hands in the couch cushions to push himself upright.

He's glaring and Jongin fixes a winning smile on his face. "What's up, baby?"

Kyungsoo has his mini watering can in his hand. "I told you to stop putting out your cigarettes in my pot plants! You're going to kill them!"

Jongin sighs. "Hyung, my cigarettes won't kill those plants. You just over-pamper them so you think that they're going to drop dead the moment you leave them alone for a little while."

Kyungsoo groans in frustration and puts his watering can down. Jongin shifts uneasily, just in case he has to make a run for it. Kyungsoo stalks over to him, eyes dangerously small, and Jongin hitches the smile back onto his face in an attempt to calm him down.

"Don't pull that shit on me, Kim Jongin!" Kyungsoo shrieks, practically flying over the coffee table. Jongin is up in a second, dashing around the room while Kyungsoo chases him in fury. He laughs, and Kyungsoo sees red. He gains a second wind and crashes into Jongin's spine, knocking him flat on the living room carpet. Jongin lets out a groan of pain and Kyungsoo knows no mercy.

"I—will—not—be—cooking—you—food—for—a—month," he growls, accentuating each word with a pound to Jongin's back. Jongin yelps in pain and flips them over, eyes wide in horror.

"You don't mean that!" Jongin gasps.

Kyungsoo folds his arms and sets his mouth. "I do."

"No, no, no," Jongin pleads, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Kyungsoo's rigid frame. "I'm sorry. Please cook me food."

Kyungsoo huffs. Jongin kisses his unresponsive, protruding lower lip.

"Sorry, hyung."

Kyungsoo stands up. "Don't do it again."

Jongin grins. "I won't. What's for dinner?"

Kyungsoo ducks into the kitchen, grabs the still-wet dishcloth and throws it across the living room. It lands, with Kyungsoo's impeccable aim, right on Jongin's face and the younger screeches.

"You're incorrigible," Kyungsoo notes, picking his watering can back up.

 

 

Tomorrow is January 13th. Their twentieth and twenty-first birthday.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Jongin has been standing in front of the mirror for almost two hours and he thinks he's making progress. The shape of his lips is a little more like the confident smirk that he used to be known for (that Kyungsoo used to smack him for). But it's taking too long and he really, really needs nicotine. Now.

He heads out onto the balcony and Kris is already on his own, finishing up his night-time joint. The blond looks over and his lips curve up into a greeting smile. Jongin can do this. He's spent the last two hours practicing. He smiles back.

"You're out a bit late today," Kris says. "Don't get cold."

"I'll be fine." Jongin lights up with Joonmyun's lighter. Where did Joonmyun move to? He can't really remember. "You're out late, too."

Kris chuckles. "Chanyeol came home early. No point in trying to finish up before he got back."

"Ah."

Kris flicks the last of the ash off the end and stubs it out. He and Chanyeol have a little table on their balcony, complete with ashtray. Jongin glances at Kyungsoo's plant. The damn thing is fine. Hasn't died yet.

There's some sort of metallic crashing and banging from inside Kris' place. Kris winces. "I'd better get inside before he hurts himself," he mutters, and Jongin (too late) recognizes the crashing as the sound of pans banging together. Kyungsoo is too careful with his pans to let that happen and besides, Jongin hasn't eaten anything but takeout for a while.

Kris asked a question and Jongin missed it. "Sorry, what?" he asks.

Kris repeats himself. "Would you like to come over to eat with us?"

Jongin shakes his head quickly. "No, thanks."

"Chanyeol would love to have you over, you know. But we're not pushing you."

"Thanks." Jongin's been practicing for two hours. He smiles as he looks up. "But I'm alright."

"Okay. Goodnight, Jongin—"

"Jongin-ah!" Chanyeol comes bursting out onto the balcony, blinding grin and all. He leaps onto Kris' back, wrapping his arms around Kris' chest and wrinkling his nose. "Ugh, you stink. Hello Jongin! How are you? Did I hear Kris say you're coming over?"

"No, sorry. Thanks, though. Maybe another time."

"Aww." Chanyeol's happy face only slips for a moment. Jongin marvels again at how well he can keep it up. "Well, if you're sure. We're happy to feed you, you know! I mean, even though neither of us can even come close to how well—"

Kris slaps a hand over Chanyeol's mouth, as though Jongin can't guess what Chanyeol was going to say.

"Maybe another time," Kris echoes Jongin, hauling the hyperactive man back inside. "Goodnight, Jongin."

Jongin's too busy hacking up his entire digestive system to respond.

 

 

He listens when he recovers, and he can hear their deep-voiced laughter through their glass door. He's known it for a long time. It's been staring him in the face, day after day after _day_. And yet it's only now, after two hours of attempting a faked smile that he lets himself believe it. And he picks up Kyungsoo's plant in its pot and heaves it over the banister, counting two and a half seconds before the clay shatters on the ground below. Because how dare Chanyeol be genuine. How _dare_ he be so sickeningly happy, every day, when around him the world is such a fucked up mess.

He stubs his joint out on the back of his hand, and there's no Kyungsoo to kiss the burn better. He storms back into his empty apartment and picks up the vase on the filthy kitchen counter, the vase that has been sitting there empty for almost a year. He had worshipped that vase, but it smashes like any other against the kitchen floor.

He screams, falling to his knees, slicing them open on the shards. But there's no Kyungsoo to clean it up and there isn't going to be, so after he's regained his breath he fetches the broom and sweeps it up himself. He cuts his feet anyway, because he can't be bothered to clear his vision of tears and check for pieces left over.

His hand hurts like fuck and he's hungry but he heads to the shower.

Phlegm, unnoticed slivers of glass and thread-thin trails of blood slither down the drain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's been one year to the day, so Jongin puts on the thick sweater that Kyungsoo made for him. It's hideous, and Jongin had told him so, as well as that he'd never be seen dead wearing this in public. But Kyungsoo had laughed and told him it was okay, as long as he wore it inside when it was cold. And here Jongin is now, pulling at the sleeves of it as he walks down the winter streets to see Kyungsoo.

It's been one year to the day and there's an apology on his lips and flowers in his hands and he stops dead when he sees someone is already there.

"—worried about him because Jongin's apartment is absolutely _filthy_ , Kyungsoo, and you'd be horrified. I keep offering to have him over for dinner but he's kind of sad, so he never comes. I hope you're not too worried, though, you always do worry too much—"

"Chanyeol?"

Chanyeol spins around and the movement is entirely graceless as he loses his balance completely and stumbles a few steps before he grins at Jongin. "Hey, Jongin! I was wondering when you'd come. I'm talking to Kyungsoo."

"You know each other?" Jongin asks in surprise. He hadn't known.

"Of course, we were neighbours," Chanyeol says reproachfully. "We know you're not much of a social butterfly, Jongin, but—"

"Okay, yeah, I get it." Jongin comes up to stand beside Chanyeol and look down at Kyungsoo. What is left of him. He puts the flowers down on the stone. Chanyeol has already lit an incense stick.

Chanyeol wraps an arm around Jongin's shoulders and the warmth is foreign as it seeps through the thick woolen jumper.

"That thing is hideous," Chanyeol comments.

" _Your_ clothes are hideous," Jongin mutters back.

"Look, Kyungsoo," Chanyeol murmurs, ignoring him, "He's wearing it…"

"Yeah, see?" Jonging stretches it out in case Kyungsoo can't see it properly. "In public, too. I hope you're happy."

Chanyeol laughs and Jongin can imagine the smug look on Kyungsoo's face. "When are his parents getting here?" Chanyeol asks, a question so cheerful and innocent that Jongin almost tears himself away and punches him in the face. He restrains himself, though and just pulls away gently, digging in his pockets for his cigarettes. He laughs as he extracts one and sticks it in his mouth, flicking on the tiny flame from Joonmyun's lighter _(To Jongin, my favourite dongsaeng, with love. Don't use it too much)_ but there is no mirth in it.

"Those bastards aren't coming," he scoffs, and Chanyeol blinks in confusion.

"What do you mean? Of course they're coming. It's his anniversary. Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not being ridiculous," Jongin argues, one fist curling as the other holds his cigarette, "You're being ridiculous."

"What are you even talking about, Jongin? They're his paren—!"

"It's ridiculous, Chanyeol," Jongin interrupts, shouting now, "That you think so highly of every-fucking-person in the world that you can't even imagine the amount of hate people hold in their hearts." His eyes prick and he angrily brushes his tears away. "It's ridiculous that you're always so fucking happy about everything and it's inconceivable to you that people could not want to see their son's grave because they know I'll be here." His hands are shaking as he tries to get his cigarette between his lips for another drag. "His mother's in Busan and his father's in England, and newsflash Chanyeol — it is possible for two people to hate their son so much, so much to not come see him on the anniversary of his death, and to be so disgusted by that son _just_ because he _loved another man_!"

He shrieks the words in Chanyeol's face and for the first time that Jongin's ever seen, Chanyeol is not smiling. He takes Jongin's cigarette and throws it into the snow.

"Kyungsoo hates smoking," he says quietly and grabs Jongin's hands. Jongin struggles, but Chanyeol's grip is like a vice. He can't stop Chanyeol from inspecting the cuts on his palms that exist because he's not very good at sweeping up glass, and the cigarette burn on the back of his left hand.

Chanyeol throws Jongin to his knees and Jongin falls over onto all fours.

"Apologize," Chanyeol orders almost silently.

Jongin is sobbing as he obeys without thinking. "Kyungsoo… I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he tries to take a breath, but ends up coughing again. His throat burns and he struggles to control himself before he continues. "I'm still smoking and breaking things and our house is a mess and I killed your plants," he whispers, fingers curling in the snow. "And I've been eating terribly and bouncing off horrible jobs and I forgot to pay the power bill this month." He bites his lip. "I really must have been terrible at fixing you, Kyungsoo, because I can't even start to fix myself and I found out — you really were the _only_ thing that was holding me together…"

"Fuck," he adds, sitting back on his heels and pressing his icy hands to his face. "Fuck. I miss you. I miss you so much. I can't… fuck."

"I love you," he blurts out and he can't hold the sobs back any more.

Chanyeol is sitting beside him and he grabs Jongin's face. "Jongin."

Jongin can't see him, can't even open his eyes, can't bite his lip the sobs are so strong.

"Jongin, listen to me. Listen. You've apologized, okay? You've apologized, so it's not your fault anymore."

Jongin finds himself sobbing into the faux-fur on Chanyeol's hood. He's cold and Chanyeol is warm and the smell of the incense makes him think only of heartbreak and he just doesn't want to breathe anymore.

"Kyungsoo, I'm sorry," he cries, and Chanyeol is whispering soothing nonsense to him and he ignores it and keeps whispering "Kyungsoo" and "I'm sorry" and "I love you" because all that matters is that Kyungsoo hears him and understands him and loves him back.

That's all.

 

 

It's a week until January 13th.

Their twenty-second and twenty-third birthday.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
